He was once one of Hollywood’s biggest stars, commanding six million
dollars a film. These days, Jean-Claude Van Damme’s flicks go straight to
video. But the Muscles from Brussels isn’t worried – as he tells Jeremy Duns,
he has a higher calling
"You’re going to be a very good father," Jean-Claude Van Damme
tells me. "Better than lots of people." Thanks, I say. "Worse
than lots of people, too," he continues. He puts a hand on my shoulder.
"But you’re going to be on the high side." He pauses dramatically.
"And you’re going to have more than one kid."
My wife is eight months pregnant and I’m chatting about it with the Belgian
action star, father of three and part-time prophet as we sip espressos on the
balcony of his room at London’s Philippe Starck-designed Sanderson Hotel. It’s
taken me three weeks to arrange the meeting: I’ve spoken to Van Damme’s agent,
assistant, sister and mother, and followed him by phone and fax from California
to Moscow to Cannes.
Van Damme has been getting around: in recent weeks, he’s announced that
Kylie’s buns of steel are a result of the exercises he taught her on the set of
Streetfighter (this is, after all, the man who once claimed he could crack
walnuts between his buttocks); been reported as under consideration for a
starring role in an English National Ballet film of Swan Lake; and said to be
considering an offer to spend a week in the French version of the Big Brother
house.
But, despite the publicity, things haven’t been going too well for the
self-proclaimed "Fred Astaire of karate". A decade ago, he was one of
the planet’s biggest stars, commanding $6 million a film. But now, like Chuck
Norris, Sylvester Stallone and Stephen Seagal, Van Damme is discovering that
his kind of testosterone-laden action flick is no longer in fashion: his last
three have gone straight to video.
He wasn’t always the muscleman, of course. The boy who was born Jean-Claude
Camille François Van Varenberg in 1960, in the Brussels commune of Berchem
Sainte-Agathe, was, by all accounts, shy and sensitive. He liked to read comic
books, and would admire the physique of superheroes like the Silver Surfer.
When he was 12, his father Eugène, a florist, took him along to the nearest
karate school. "He was weak, short and wore glasses," says Claude
Goetz, a burly man in his sixties who still runs the school, "But he was
keen to learn."
Goetz put the boy onto a rigorous regime that set him on his way to a
pumped-up physique. But Van Damme wasn’t all brawn. While working in his
parents’ shop, the teenager had noticed an attractive older woman who came by
regularly. She ran a ballet school around the corner; he enrolled.
"When he turned up at my school," says Monette Loza, "I had
no idea he was the Van Varenbergs’ boy. But he was extraordinarily flexible -
he could do the splits, which is quite rare in a man. I said to him ‘Finally!
Someone comes into my school who I can really make into a dancer.’ ‘I don’t
want to be a dancer,’ he replied. ‘I want to make lots of money.’"
Loza, who had had a brief career as a singer and performed on French TV
with Jacques Brel, says he made the right decision. "Dancers’ careers
don’t last long," she says. "Jean-Claude was clever – he was
ambitious, and he knew exactly what he was doing. He would come to my class, do
what he had to do, then head off to the gym."
Van Damme kept up the ballet for five years and, according to Loza, could
have become a professional. But his sights were set on America: after a karate
contest in Florida and a visit to California’s famous Gold’s Gym, it was all he
could think of. He left school and, with his father’s help, set up his own gym
in Brussels, the California. He was 18. An admirer of Chuck Norris, who had
parlayed his job as a martial arts instructor to the stars into a successful
film career, Van Damme would tell people who visited his club that, one day, he
too would be a movie star.
In 1979, he went to Hong Kong to try to break into the burgeoning martial
arts film industry there. Nothing came of it, so in 1981 he moved to Los
Angeles with $2,000 in cash. He worked as a chauffeur, carpet-layer, bouncer
and pizza delivery boy, sleeping in a rented car and showering at the gym, before
a chance meeting with Norris led to a bit part. In 1983, he adopted the surname
Van Damme, after a family friend. Shortly after, he landed a small role as a
gay martial arts expert in Monaco Forever but, five years after leaving
Belgium, he still wasn’t much nearer his dream. He’d regularly call his parents
and Goetz to update them on his progress. "If things didn’t work
out," says Goetz, "we were going to open a chocolate shop in
Brussels."
But Neuhaus and Godiva were not to have a new rival. In 1986, Van Damme
made a move that was to become Hollywood lore: spotting the influential action
film producer Menahem Golan leaving a restaurant in Beverly Hills, he aimed a
360-degree kick at him, stopping just a hair’s breadth from his face. Golan
gave Van Damme his card, and told him to come by his office the next day. The
meeting led to Van Damme’s breakthrough: Bloodsport, in which he played
real-life underground martial arts champion Frank Dux. The film was a surprise
hit, making $35 million from a budget of just $1.5 million. A string of others
followed, and Van Damme started earning serious money: a million dollars for
Universal Soldier in 1992, $3 million for John Woo’s Hollywood debut Hard
Target in ’93, and over $6 million for the following year’s Streetfighter. The
puny boy with the glasses had become one of the world’s biggest movie stars.
Yet even as his career was sky-rocketing, Van Damme was in trouble. His
first marriage had ended in 1984: before long, he had two other failed
marriages behind him, and had wed former model Darcy LaPier. In 1996, Van Damme
admitted he was addicted to cocaine, and checked into the Daniel Freeman Marina
Hospital in LA: he checked out after a week. LaPier filed for divorce, claiming
that Van Damme had physically abused her under the influence of the drug, and
had threatened to kidnap their son Nicholas and leave the US.
Van Damme’s annus horribilis was 1998: he was back on cocaine, was beaten
up by one of his former stuntmen in a topless bar in New York, and was ordered
by a Californian court to pay LaPier $27,000 a month in child support and
$85,000 a month in alimony. In 1999, he remarried his second wife, Gladys
Portugues, a former bodybuilder. He was fined for drunk driving in 2000, but he
seems to have settled down, shooting four movies in the next three years.
Which brings us to today. Van Damme has promised on the phone he will tell
me things about his life he hasn’t told anyone before, so I’ve prepared a list
of questions covering everything from his childhood to his struggle with drugs.
Things don’t go quite as planned. As I enter his suite, his assistant, an
attractive American in her early thirties, is about to leave. He kisses her
goodbye on the lips, then turns to me and grins.
"Do you fuck around?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"That’s good," he says. "You shouldn’t. I fuck around."
He laughs. "Not really, of course."
"Nice way to start the interview, Jean-Claude," says the
assistant.
Van Damme smiles boyishly, and asks her to order some coffees for us on her
way past reception. "And cookies." He points at me. "This guy’s
too skinny."
We head to the balcony. Sporting a crew-cut and tan, he looks in good
shape, and younger than 42. He’s wearing a grey sweatshirt, dirty white
trainers, and a pair of stonewashed jeans with the number 7 down one leg – part
of his own Dammage 7 collection, launched in 2001.
Then he lights a cigarette and tells me that he doesn’t want to discuss
"anything physically real".
It’s hard to describe what happens next. Van Damme loves to talk, but it’s
stream-of-consciousness stuff, and his English is often hard to follow. For
much of the time, it feels as if I’m not there.
"You know, I have to be very aware of what I say to you," he
begins, with an ironic smile. His emphasis is deliberate: Parlez-vous le
Jean-Claude?, a book of carefully chosen extracts from 20 years of interviews
with him, is a runaway best-seller in France. The word that crops up most in it
is "aware", and it has made him an object of ridicule in the
French-speaking world.
"A guy like me, when I say something to people, I’ve got nothing to
gain," he says. "I get into trouble, because I speak too fast and I
don’t explain myself too well. But now I became better. It took me a long time
because, you know, when you leave school at sixteen and you have your own way
of talking…" He tails off.
Van Damme claims that the media has misrepresented him. "They cut me,
left and right," he says. "Like butchers. Why butchers? Because
butchers are killers."
I can see his point: his sentences sometimes go on for 10 minutes, making
him hard to quote. As he winds up a long monologue on the "speed of
thought", I decide to risk a question on the physically real. "I
spoke to your former ballet teacher…" I begin.
"The problem is – I’m gonna cut you – all those people I met in my
life, they’re past. The present is all that counts. Those people you spoke to
met me when I was 15. But let’s say something happened to me. Something
wonderful. And since then, the man changed, okay? Wow. But he was educated that
way. But he remembers stuff. And, in fact, even when he wants to remember
something now it doesn’t come until it’s supposed to come." He slaps his
head. "Now I knew it."
So you’ve changed, I say.
"Completely. And I wrote a script."
The script is called either The Choice or The Tower, and it’s Van Damme’s
obsession. "It’s what keeps me alive," he says. It’s about a
professional motorcyclist who has a crash and slips into a coma, where he
discovers himself inside a seven-level tower he has to move his way up. Van
Damme has been working on the project for six years, and plans to direct and
star in it. After a long, abstract explanation of the plot, he gives me a broad
grin. "Wow," he says. "Profound. You see, if you want to do an
interview with me, you have to spend three, four days. Because then you start
to know a person. After this meeting, we can go on the street and talk normal.
Listen, sometimes I smoke, I train every day, I go three hours to the gym. My
favourite ice cream is vanilla. I can say that – it’s more nice for the people,
because it’s more about the physical, here. But I’ll prove it to you. I’m on
paper here. I believe in my stuff."
He returns to the plot of his script, and there are some interesting thoughts
beneath the twisted grammar and leaps of logic. I’m especially struck by his
idea that any moment from our past can revisit us to guide our actions. I tell
him it reminds me of the Russian-Armenian mystic Gurdjieff’s explanation of
vivid childhood memories as "moments of consciousness". Hey, if you
can’t beat ’em… Van Damme is fascinated by this. Gurdjieff was right, he says:
our past is the key to our evolution.
"Look, I’m still on a huge process of learning. Life. Myself.
Remembering. You. Love. Bigger. Faster. Smarter. But everything what you’re
doing in life, what I do in life, is also attached to what we call our past
life. I was born skinny, and I was laughed at in school, you know – I was with
glasses and I didn’t speak well. I was having a lithp. Big lithp – I was
talking like that." We laugh at his joke.
"Plus I lost my few first girlfriends. I was so much in love with
them, only with a kiss. And you know, at that time, sex was not existing –
strong Catholic family. So I was waiting, waiting, afraid to do, and nothing
happened. And I was hurt, big time. So karate came to my life. And I became
very good. Very strong. And guess what? Ladies came at me! More than enough.
Too much! Then I go to America, with this package called muscles," – he hunches
his back in the classic body-builder position – "Carapace, the turtle, you
know? It’s my cover. And I show that to people, and with that I become a star.
But now I’ve got to say ‘Wait a second – what else can I do in my life? I show
and show and show, but it’s still on the low shakra, on the primal way.’"
He started having these thoughts while using cocaine. Instead of using the
drug to party, he sat at home in his room, contemplating suicide. He quit coke,
he says, because he realised that he hadn’t yet created anything. "You
just created an illusion," he says, recounting his dialogue with himself.
"What you think is real, it’s not real. You have to create inside you, JC.
You have to go inside and ask the question to yourself ‘What do you want in
life?’ You cannot talk to yourself, JC. You’re scared to think you’ve got
something powerful inside you who can tell you what to do, who knows every
answer in the universe? But you have to believe in the question, knowing the
answer is already in your head. So I take a different stage to create a movie
where I’m gonna try to do something very special."
Understandably, he’s worried how his fans might react. "My people are
from the street," he says. "Those people made me. So if they hear me
talking about the universe, this and that, they think ‘This guy is fucked
up.’" This is why, he says, the film will start from the mundane and
gradually move to the mystical. "I will take them through different
levels. Then if they don’t like it, they can walk back. But they cannot refuse
me, Jean-Claude Van Damme. Those are my people and I am your people, guys! I’m
still the guy if I see a person crossing the street or a young guy getting hit
for his lunch box at school who’s skinny like I was, I will go and fight the
group and say ‘Guys, give back the food!’ Because I’m still a hero. A real
hero. I mean, somebody gets attacked - I’ll protect. I’ll do my best. I’m for
real, okay? I’m not made of cable."
I tell him that perhaps a spiritual action movie is just what his fans
want. Look at The Matrix. He doesn’t like the comparison.
"The background of The Tower will not be sci-fi," he says.
"It will be made of wood, stone, trees, water – elements. Earth elements.
And lots of wisdom. We’ll have a gnome in the tower. An old person. A gnome."
I notice he says "we" a lot. At one point, he proclaims "The
most important people are the gurus", and I ask him if he has one.
"Of course. My guru is someone very close to me, someone I speak to every
day. But if I say that in your newspaper they’re going to think we’re having
sex or something."
I assure him I can avoid that insinuation. The good thing about having a
guru, he continues, is that he has someone who can listen to him "from the
heart" – and who can correct him. "I make notes like this," he says,
showing me a pad of paper. "I have something to add to them now, in fact.
Today, because of you, I just saw something." He’s talking about
Gurdjieff. "This guy doesn’t know shit about the script, but he remembers
his destiny," he says, pointing at me. "He told me the answer without
knowing it! How did you give me the answer?" I have no idea, I say,
already imagining my name on the film’s opening credits. "We all have a
path. The path is perfection. We’re all here to search for perfection, to be
able to cry without tears. Being able to compress your emotion to one
point."
Monette Loza told me that she found you very self-contained, even as a
teenager.
"What does that mean – ‘self-contained’?"
I tell him, and he starts writing down my definition. "A very
beautiful word," he says. He tells me he was in love with Loza. "I
was 16, 17, and she was 40. But to be as in shape as an 18-year-old at her age,
it’s very sexy. Also, when a woman is that age, you can talk with them. You can
have dinner for two or three hours before love-making. And talk about life. And
the wine."
As we’re clearly now in physically real territory, I ask him about his
plans. He says he's yet to be approached by English National Ballet, and that
he's now too old for ballet, anyway. Hell, which has also been titled The Shu
and The Savage at various stages, and The Order, which features Charlton Heston
as his father and was shot in Israel, have both been released on video and DVD,
but his agent has told me that The Monk, in which Van Damme - rather
implausibly, I’d thought prior to meeting him - plays a Shaolin monk, may not
see any kind of release. Van Damme admits he’s done "a few shitty
movies" – he tears into last year’s Derailed, in which he played a secret
agent battling terrorists on a train – but says he’s excited about upcoming
projects: After Death, a revenge thriller directed by Ringo Lam (Maximum Risk,
Replicant), and Lone Wolf, "a cool story – very commercial", which he
won’t discuss more for legal reasons. After that, it’s The Tower/The Choice.
What about the remake of The Great Escape he’s mentioned in several interviews?
His plans to make a Jacques Brel biopic? Or the long-rumoured sequel to
Streetfighter, which both Holly Vallance and Dolph Lundgren have been connected
to in recent weeks? His eyes harden: "The plan is what I just told
you."
Eventually, his publicist appears by the table, and I realise we’ve been
talking for nearly two hours. Van Damme looks like he could carry on for a few
more, but I feel drained. He wishes me luck with fatherhood, which brings me
back to earth. As we shake hands, I start worrying about how I’ll break the
news to my wife: we’re going to have more than one child.
First published in The Bulletin, May 30, 2003.